Gilligan's Lady
by Kitty O
Summary: After a battle with Emrys, Morgana awakens to find herself on a deserted island with seven strange people. They're a lot more kind and bubbly than she's used to, but they seem friendly. Friendly in a way which she could only wish Camelot would adopt where she was concerned. Some Morgana/Gilligan. No slash.
1. Gilligan, The Skipper, and the Professor

**A/N: I realize how few people in the world who read fanfiction watch both American 60's sitcom **_**Gilligan's Island**_** and modern British drama **_**Merlin.**_ **I don't care. I'll fight anyone who says I can't ship Gilligan/Morgana. (And OMG can you imagine the Arthur/Mary Ann?)**

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The first thing Morgana became aware of was heat. Warm, comfortable heat from the sun flickering over her skin, prying in between her eyelids.

To say she was surprised was a bit of an understatement.

She'd lost the fight. She knew she had; she'd shot something deadly at Merlin, too overwhelmed with anger and too unsteady to even know what it was. But Merlin had countered with his own magic, bright colors mixing together and spinning back towards her. She'd jerked, feet leaving the ground, and everything had gone black before she'd landed.

In that kind of circumstance, there were two possible outcomes, and neither involved her lying with her eyes closed, napping in the sun. The less likely scenario was that she'd lost and been subdued, at which point Merlin had taken her off to Camelot and she was curled up in a cold, musty dungeon. The more likely outcome was that she'd died when the magic hit her.

This was not a dungeon in Camelot, she realized, letting her fingers drift around her—there was grass and dirt under them. She could hear animals. No, say what you would about children of Camelot, but any child of Uther Pendragon should know his dungeons when they awoke in them. She knew she would without opening her eyes.

She didn't think she was dead, either. She could be wrong, of course; but she was fairly certain that any sort of afterlife (a concept she hadn't devoted much time thinking about, in all honesty) would not allow her to keep a mildly throbbing head and warm, pleasant heat. She always imagined the afterlife to be chilly. Unless this was hell, but if all hell contained was a slight ache, soft grass, and bright sun—well, she should have been fairly more villainous in life!

No, she was not dead. That decided, she opened her eyes.

She was not anywhere she recognized. Sitting up, Morgana squinted and looked around. She looked normal; her hair was messy, her dress was her normal ripped black affair, and touching her long finger to her eyelid, she discovered that she hadn't lost her green eye shadow—the one decoration she allowed herself anymore. But the land around her was alien.

The sky was blue, bluer than she remembered it being. There were trees and grass. Dirt, but sandy dirt—not anything that could be found in _her _forest. A sand path was not far from her. And some of these trees were downright strange. What kind was that? she wondered, studying one with large, feather-like leaves and layered trunk.

How did she get here?

Morgana heard a noise and spun around as fast as she could, hand out and a spell already on her lips.

She encountered a sight so funny her hands nearly dropped to her side. A young man faced her. His shirt was red—as red as Camelot's cloaks. He had a hat like she'd never seen, white and floppy. He wore strange pants and shoes, and had a pinched expression like he was lost on his face. And he was skinny. Skinnier than Merlin, even—much skinnier.

He came crashing through the trees and met her eyes, jumping like she'd shocked him. He gulped visibly and grabbed his hat in both hands, staring at her like she was some fantastic beast.

She blinked.

"Wow!" he cried immediately, his voice in a loud whisper. "A lady! A real lady!" But then he stopped like he'd just thought of something. "Are you real?" he asked.

She let one hand come to her hip in a way that Helios and Agravaine had found exceedingly attractive. "Yes," she said, letting her signature smile slip onto her face—the one which suggested mental instability. Then she grew serious. "Are you?"

"Me?" the little man in red nearly squeaked, looking alarmed at her smoky glare. "I'm Gilligan!"

Her head jutted forward. "That is your _name_?"

"Yes," he said. "Wow, you _are_ real! Wait 'til I tell the others! You could rescue us, lady! Where's your boat?"

"Boat?" she repeated. "What boat? I have no boat."

"How'd you get here, then?" he asked, his excited face falling. She tried not to feel guilty, like when she'd been fifteen and slapped Gwen, watched the maid's face fall—and then Morgana had promptly burst into apologetic tears.

"I haven't the faintest," she told him. "Where am I?"

Now he looked at her like she was crazy. "You're on a deserted island," he told her. "Off the coast of Hawaii. There are seven of us—we were shipwrecked here."

"The coast of where?" She'd never heard of such a place. She moved forward in a way vaguely threatening. He noticed, his eyes flickering to her hips where her pale hands sat. He took a step back.

"Hawaii," he said. "You know, the state. America! The United States!"

She remained blank.

He tried to placate her. "You sound like you're from England," he said.

"Yes," she said. "I am."

"Well," he said, smiling nervously. He made her think of a mouse. "Maybe you just… missed hearing about us! We had this Revolution, see."

She blinked, and then rubbed her hand against her forehead. "You speak in gibberish," she said. Perhaps he was a simpleton? "How did I come to be here?"

"I don't know," Gilligan said. "I just found you. Gee! The Professor might know something. He always does. He's real smart."

She waved her hand. "May I meet him? Is he your leader?"

Gilligan grinned, instantly friendly again, all inexplicable fear forgotten. "Nah," he said. "That would probably be the Skipper, or Mr. Howell. We all sort of work together here."

"You said there were seven of you," she said, a little uncomfortable all at once. "All men?" Not that they would give her too much trouble if they were—she had magic. But perhaps they did as well? She would have to keep her eyes open.

"No, four men, three girls. Mrs. Howell, Ginger, and Mary Ann. They're all real swell. You need to meet them!" Gilligan came forward, and _took her hand._

Yes, he reached out, _into her space,_ and took her hand in his. And he'd only just met her! Morgana stiffened like a board, but before she could shriek or smite him (whichever came quicker), she was being dragged through the forest by an exuberant boy.

"Professor!" he yelled as he went, obviously knowing just where he was going. "Skip-per! Prof-ess-or!" He dragged their names (or where they names?) out as he called.

At last he came to a stop, and she quickly yanked her hand back, putting it to use straightening her neckline. It wasn't really made for much shifting around. By the time Gilligan turned around, though, she was back to normal and looking as queenly as she could manage, though the heat was making her sweat.

It was so sunny and bright here—it was cold in Camelot, she'd thought.

"Wait here!" Gilligan said, and then he ran off into a clearing right in front of them, leaving her alone. She lifted her eyebrows as she heard him yelling. "Professor! Skipper! Mr. Howell! There's a lady! She's in the trees…" She heard a mumbled response. "No, Professor, she's an honest-to-goodness lady; she's pretty and everything…"

Morgana felt herself blush. She blew air out of her cheeks, surprised. It had been a long time since anyone called her pretty like that. (Helios didn't count, because he'd call a rock pretty if it meant he got something he wanted.)

After a bit, Gilligan came running back over, his footsteps joined by two other pairs.

"Come on," he called to Morgana, and she stepped out of her not-hiding place, trying as hard as she could to look intimidating. Just in case they got any ideas. She was the one in charge.

She took in the sight around her. There was an open space with several huts built all around; it reminded her of a smaller Ealdor, but made of green leaves, and with a communal table set in the middle of the whole thing. Two men were behind Gilligan; one was fat and aging, with a blue shirt on and a black funny hat. The other was an attractive younger man in a white button down shirt. Both looked perfectly shocked to see her standing there.

"Well, little buddy!" the fat man boomed. "You were right!"

"I told you," Gilligan replied smugly. "But she didn't come on a boat, and she doesn't know how she got here. This is the Professor and the Skipper!"

"Is that so?" the man in the button-down shirt (Professor) asked, reaching out to take Morgana's hand. "You just woke up here?"

Morgana considered her options and decided to tell the truth. "Yes," she said. And then, because he was still waiting, she took his hand and shook it. These people were strange, and she could see their customs were wildly different. She would just play along.

"That is most unusual. What's the last thing you remember?"

Morgana blinked. "Oh," she said. "I was thrown backwards." Leave out Emrys, she decided. Leave out everything. She didn't trust these people.

"Well, what's your name?" the Skipper asked eagerly, his mouth hanging open like a dummy, in her cultured opinion.

"I am the Lady Morgana," Morgana replied.

"Well," Gilligan said with a grin, "I knew you were a _lady… _We haven't been shipwrecked that long."

"No, Gilligan," the Professor replied as though he were used to politely correcting such comments. "She means she's nobility. It's very nice to meet you, milady." The Professor gave a slight bow.

Morgana did not curtsy in return. Somewhere along the way, between the frizzled, untouched hair and the lack of underskirt, she'd dropped that formality. She only still introduced herself as Lady when she wanted to make an impact… And when the people she spoke to didn't know any better.

"Well, we'll have to figure out what happened," the Professor said as soothingly as he could. "Gilligan, where did you find her?"

"Over by the lagoon, Professor, right off the path," Gilligan answered, pointing towards the way they'd come as he straightened his hat.

"Do you wish me to come as well?"

"I don't think you need to," the Professor said. "Not if you don't remember anything."

"You're probably tired anyway," the fat man replied, patting her on the shoulder. She bristled—she didn't like being touched. He looked down at her outfit, in a manner so far from subtle that she felt the urge to roll her eyes. "Perhaps Gilligan could take you to meet the girls," he added. "They could probably lend you some clothes. That dress looks like it's been through a lot."

Morgana ran a self-conscious hand down her dress. "That would be acceptable," she said at last. "As long as I am informed of anything you discover."

"Of course, milady," said the Professor. "Come on," he said to the Skipper, and then he ducked off down a path away from the clearing. She watched him go, trying to memorize the way the paths looked from this side.

The Skipper lumbered after him, after pulling up his pants with an "erp" sound.

Gilligan looked at Morgana, smiling. "Are you ready to meet the girls?" he asked.

She contemplated that. She'd hate to do what they expected her to do—no need to give them the power. "What if you showed me around a bit first?" she said. "I've never been anywhere like this. For example…" She walked a little to the side and placed her hand on the trunk of the strange tree she had noticed earlier. "What is this?"

"A palm tree," Gilligan said, cocking his head to the side. "Haven't you ever seen a palm tree?"

"No," she said, studying it intently. "We don't have them where I am come from. I mean, I've heard of _similar_ ones… But not like this. A palm tree," she repeated, and then smiled. This place was almost like a new world.

It was strange. But perhaps it could be nice.

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**A/N: I'm thinking three or four shot, short chapter story. What do you think?**


	2. The Girls

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews :) It's cool to find people who watch both shows, but I was shocked more people were unfamiliar with _Merlin_; I had thought it would be the other way around.**

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Gilligan showed her around the island patiently. He pointed out the huts with some pride, telling her how they'd built those with what they could find on the island. She was introduced the communal table and the radio.

The radio was either magic or these people had trapped some kind of talking creature inside the box (and she'd dealt with the goblin! She knew that was both possible and probably wise—she wasn't going to let it out!) and forced it to spit out words depending on how they turned the "dial".

Then he showed her several of the paths and the best fruit trees. She was hopelessly lost before too long, but she didn't tell him. After all, as far as she could figure, this boy was more absent-minded than Merlin when he'd first come to Camelot, and if he could remember it, she would too. Eventually.

While he showed her around, he told her their story. He told her about the storm, and the shipwreck, and how they'd all grown to be like a giant family. They hadn't really had much choice. (It was that or kill each other, she supposed. The people she knew would have chosen to kill each other.) As he talked, she watched him carefully. She didn't understand a good deal of his story—many of his terms were foreign to her. But she didn't ask for help, not once. Instead she guessed, or made a note to herself to find out later.

She found him more interesting than the island, if she was being honest. Absent-minded, like she'd said. She was tempted to say he was idiotic with that impatience that living alone had taught her. But when she had first met Merlin, a mean part of her mind had called him an idiot (the part that wasn't thinking _Arthur's new manservant, you poor child, I do not envy you_); he certainly acted like one. A simple-minded fool, she'd thought. And then he'd burst into her room holding a young refugee from the law close to his side; he'd confessed that he could prove an arrested girl innocent; he'd changed Arthur from a prat to a king; he'd tricked her into drinking poison; his eyes had lit up and turned gold as he threw her into a wall with his magic.

She wasn't going to call this Gilligan an idiot until she knew for sure. And watching him, she could see the intelligence sometimes—it glinted at her when he turned his eyes a certain way, winking and tempting her to try to bring it out of hiding.

He seemed shy too, this Gilligan. (Again, Gilligan? Who named their son _Gilligan_? Perhaps it was a surname. That made sense.) And yet, at the same time, there was no mistaking that he was comfortable here. This was his island, and she wasn't going to forget it. She was the part that didn't belong; she was the oddity. However, he didn't treat her like it. In the past few minutes, he'd seemed to mostly get used to her presence.

She gave him points for that mentally: people didn't usually just get used to her. She'd had Agravaine on his toes for months. Arthur's eyes still filled with tears every time he saw her… It could possibly be put down to the heartbreak her "betrayal" had caused him, but really, she didn't even care any more. Arthur was a sentimental type; he had a hard time letting go of what had once been. Gwen was terrified of her, and rightly so, the hussy. And Merlin… Merlin danced around her like she was an unpredictable Maypole. She smirked to herself. But then it faded as she got back on topic. Gilligan. Gilligan didn't find her presence alarming or disturbing, despite her eye shadow, hair, and low-cut dress—all designed to entrance and shock.

Why wasn't he shocked? He wasn't even looking at her!

"That's most of it," Gilligan finally said, and she started, realizing she'd been paying more attention to him and her own thoughts than to his directions. He turned around to face her with a giant, goofy smile. "I guess we should get you to the girls now, like the Skipper said."

She sighed. "Do you always do what the Skipper tells you to?" she asked.

"Sure," he answered, not catching the lilt to her tone. "Usually. He's the skipper!"

She made a note of it. "I was just wondering," she said lamely, and took a step toward him. She was too close now, in his space, and he stepped back immediately, thrown off balance. She got a certain degree of relief from that—he wasn't completely used to her.

"Let's go to the girls," he said, looking at her strangely, and then he turned his back to her and started back to the huts. She followed him docilely enough.

The girls hut, on the outside, looked a good deal like the sailors' and the Professor's, but they had flowers. Gilligan knocked on the door politely, and the sound was louder than she expected the hollow wood that made up the building to be.

"Come in," called a female voice, and Gilligan went bounding through the door with Morgana on his heels.

A girl seated at a desk across the one-room hut turned around. She had red hair and eyes that looked like she was squinting. She stood up to greet Gilligan, and Morgana's eyes swept down her body in a move that every woman knew; it was the efficient look of a predator sizing up the competition. The woman was slinky, with a shiny off-white dress on. An X crossed over her chest in a soft material. Her sleeves were almost nonexistent, but other than that, Morgana approved of her clothing—the lady used to own dresses like that.

"Oh, hi, Gilligan," she said brightly.

"Hi, Ginger!" he said.

Another female, a diminutive creature with dark skin, was standing in the corner and came over. "Hello, Gilligan," she said sweetly, blinking her large brown eyes.

Morgana turned her green gaze to this girl. She had dark hair and pursed little lips. Her face alone made Morgana's fists curl in defensive alarm—she was looking at Gwen, or someone very like her, she thought immediately. Worst of all, she realized as she looked at the girl's body, this woman was naked.

Not entirely, admittedly. But despite the fact that not the tiniest bit of cleavage was showing, this woman had a tied little shirt that showed her stomach. And then her skirts—_what skirts? _Her little brightly colored _clothing article_ did not even cover her thighs. Her entire legs were obvious. Helios's _harem _girls (or whatever the hell he'd called them) wore more.

Morgana looked at Gilligan again with shock. He'd been shipwrecked with _prostitutes? _

Gilligan, in an unconscious move that settled Morgana's high opinion of him forever, was looking at the woman's face without even blinking.

"Hey, Mary Ann!" he said.

"Who's this?" Mary Ann asked warmly, spotting Morgana near the door.

"This is Morgana!" Gilligan said in a spurt of words. "I found her. She was sleeping. And there's no boat, but Skipper and the Professor are out looking anyway, because she got on the island, and we might be rescued—"

Ginger jumped. "Rescued!" she squeaked.

"But there's no boat," Gilligan finished. "So we won't be rescued."

Mary Ann's head cocked to the side. "What?" she asked, screwing up her eyes.

"Well, we don't know how she got on the island, so how could we be?" he asked Mary Ann, as though she had begun the whole wild word spill. "Say, maybe you fell from a plane!" he suddenly said to Morgana.

She just stared at him until he felt uncomfortable and looked away. (She had no idea how he thought she could have fallen from a flat piece of land, so she was probably missing something. Or he was an idiot. Whichever.)

She rolled her eyes and cut in smoothly. "The Skipper suggested I come to you to get a change of attire." She looked at Mary Ann with narrowed eyes. _Not gonna happen, if that's what that old man was thinking. _

"Oh, yeah, sister," Ginger remarked, putting a hip out. If Mary Ann looked like a prostitute, why was this red-head the one who acted like Helios's favorite blonde? "It looks like your dress got pretty messed up."

Morgana smiled coldly.

"We can put your hair in order too!" Mary Ann announced chipperly.

"You can tell us what happened," Ginger added with a giggle. "It will probably make more sense coming from you than Gilligan."

Gilligan's face fell. "That's what the Skipper said!" he defended himself, but he didn't seem to be seriously offended.

"Tell him we're on it," Mary Ann said, putting her hands on Gilligan's back and propelling him out of the hut. "Now leave! This is girl stuff!"

"Gilligan knows all about that," Ginger said with a grin. "He's the wife of the volcano, after all."

Gilligan turned red as though that was a bad memory. It brought to mind the time she'd taken over Camelot and Sir Leon had escaped her—disguised as a woman. When she heard that, later, she hadn't been quite upset enough to stop herself from grinning.

Gilligan "beat it" (as she understood the phrase he had earlier used) as fast as he could.

"Now, Morgana honey," Ginger said, "you sit down there. We'll have to wash your hair. You don't mind, huh?"

Morgana hesitated. Partly because she did mind. Partly because she'd just been called _honey_.

"You'll look gorgeous!" Ginger said. "And while we work, you can tell us how you got shipwrecked."

"I wasn't shipwrecked," Morgana said flatly. "I don't know how I got here." She nearly told these two women that she'd been in a dramatic fight for her life before she arrived here, but decided to save it for later when she could probably cherish the look on their faces.

Mary Ann patted her on the shoulder. Morgana recoiled. "It's alright," she said. "And don't worry about the hair. With Ginger, you'll be fabulous!" She gave Ginger a look which suggested idol-worship.

She'd long ago learned that people who used the word _fabulous_ were to be avoided. Amazing, sure. Beautiful, okay. She'd been a young naïve ward once, and she'd used them all while caring more about making Arthur stare at her makeup than about making Arthur stare into the face of death. But she did not want to be _fabulous_.

Morgana didn't bolt or attack.

But it was close.

"Then we'll get you better clothes," Ginger promised.

_Play along, _Morgana reminded herself, snapping her fingers on her skirt impatiently.

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**A/N: I've never written GI's characters before. I'm a lot more comfortable with Morgana. So how did I do? Another introductory chapter here. I begin to worry this will be longer than I thought. **


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